


Fantasy

by KatherineFreebatch



Category: Freebatch - Fandom, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, sad wanking, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 12:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatherineFreebatch/pseuds/KatherineFreebatch
Summary: A pining Benedict. Wanking and thinking about Martin.Yep. I have no shame.





	Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic in English, please be gentle. But con crit is ALWAYS welcome and treasured.

You are sitting in your favourite armchair.  
  
You can see the Thames moving silently out of the window, just like your hand on your cock; the clouds are rolling in the sky like your bollocks are doing in your palm.  
  
A sigh. You close your eyes and pretend he is in the room with you. He’s looking at you, arms crossed over his chest. He licks his lips and a soft, little “Oh!” escapes you.  
  
“Unbutton your shirt.” His voice in your head is loud, it bangs against the walls of your skull. But you decide to rebel against his imaginary orders.  
  
You slip your index finger in the space between buttons and rake your nail across your nipple. Once. Twice. And a third time. You imagine it’s his scruffy chin. You moan, but not in pleasure. You’re irritated with yourself: this is not how your little fantasy is supposed to go.  
  
You want him to look at you while you touch yourself and think about him. You want to imagine him trembling with want as he watches you come while screaming out his name.  
  
So you take a deep breath, you shake your head and go back to his order: you unbutton your shirt. The cool air hardens your nipples. You suck two fingers in your mouth, you wet the tips of them and then pinch your nipples. You roll the firm nubs between your fingers and then pinch again, hard. So hard it almost hurts.  
  
In your head, Martin starts, and you smile with your eyes closed.  
  
Again your index fingers is in front of your mouth. Your tongue slips between your lips and you let it coil around the pad of your finger for a second to to wet it thoroughly. Then you press the slick digit against the right corner of your mouth and let it glide down to your neck, it stops for a second in the dip between your collarbones and it goes lower, right between your pecs and lower still until it reaches your navel and dips in once, twice. When your finger reaches your cock, it’s dry, but all it takes to wet it again is slipping it over your seeping glans. You take it back to your mouth and suck it greedily in to taste yourself. The sound you make is halfway between vulgar and awkward but it’s no matter.  
  
Martin falters and his voice in your mind is rougher now. “Touch yourself. I want to see that hand pumping that nice little cock.”  
  
And you are so happy to obey. You spread your legs, showing your bollocks, your perineum slick with sweat and then you spread your thighs some more, you rest each knee on an armrest: you are completely open now and Martin can see everything, even that tight, virgin hole you would let him fill with his cock.  
  
Your hand is stroking, up and down, it grips you at the base and slackens on the journey up your shaft and twist at the head, letting your palm slide on your glans.  
  
Up and down. Again. And again. And again.  
You moan and another finger slips inside your mouth, you suck harder. Instinctively your hand tightens around your cock and makes your foreskin slide up and cover your glans for a second before retracting again.  
  
You’ve suddenly reached your limit. Your thighs are trembling, your stomach is getting taught and pleasure is coiling tight in your groin. Your hand on your cock picks up the pace, it strokes faster and faster and there are three fingers in your mouth now.  
  
When you climax, it’s like an explosion: your come reaches up to your nipples and you scream Martin’s name around your mouthful.  
  
Your breathing is calmer now, the beating of your heart is gentler, slower and your drenched hand lays loosely curled on your knee.  
  
You feel the air cooling your body, you start to shiver and just when shame begins to creep on you, your doorbell rings.  
  
“Ben? Are you in?”  
  
And there you are. Back to square one. Your heart beats a tatto inside your ribcage and Martin is outside your door. And this time it’s not a fantasy. This time, it’s for real.


End file.
